


Visits

by tarmetiel



Series: Ghostverse Vingettes [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Fuck Buddies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, It's Jason what do you expect, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarmetiel/pseuds/tarmetiel
Summary: He visits; on rooftops and windowsills, at hospitals and the manor. Until it’s a habit, being there. Even when he’s gone, he’s there.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Ghostverse Vingettes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855324
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96





	Visits

**Author's Note:**

> This timeline takes "vignettes" seriously lol, but it begins before Ways to Say and ends after To Become a Ghost.
> 
> This was a monster, I've been working on it since I started To Become a Ghost, which is bonkers. For some reason I cannot get away from present tense with these two, sorry, lol. Hope you enjoy it!

Sometimes Jason visits. 

Doesn’t really matter when or where. They fight, they fuck. It’s routine at this point. Jason only ever visits Dick if some really heavy shit is going down - a mission gone wrong, or maybe a close call. Screaming makes it better, fighting makes it easier, and grinding down on Dick makes the chaos settle in his brain.

He gets pulled in. Drawn towards Dick like a moth to flame, knowing it’s not right. Maybe that’s the wrong phrase - more like a sense of foreboding, or an inkling of fear, a deep seated knowledge that this is going to be what kills him and maybe he’s okay with that because maybe he doesn’t want to fight anymore. It keeps pulling him towards Dick, wanting the connection and hating the dependence. Needing that taste in his mouth, that grip on his waist. Desperate for something to hold him up out of the pit. Dick is intoxicating, he wants to drown in him, fill his lungs to the brim with him. 

Dick knows if Jason is standing at his door, something somewhere happened and he needs him. Needs him to yell back, to challenge, to poke and prod every decision. To throw the first punch, or dig enough to instigate the first punch. He’s happy to be there for Jay. Maybe that’s the wrong word - but a feeling like happiness, a feeling like gladness, ignites an ember in his heart. It glows on, through the weeks of not seeing Jason, not knowing if he’s okay. And it grows every time he sees him. It drives him to push for answers, push for kisses, push to keep him for the night. Push for more than a quick fuck.

* * *

Jason stops by on rooftops.

Dick grabs them chili dogs and sodas and they sit; they watch for stars through the pollution hanging heavy in the air. They run over rooftops, a complicated game of tag where even they don’t know the rules, until they find a corner where Oracle can’t watch them rubbing against each other. They break apart, kisses fleeting. Dick tugs at Jason, drawing him back in, practically cuddling in their safe spot, hands entwining.

Dick only speaks of light things - sometimes a cat that joined him on patrol, or how he bonded with a woman over _Schitts Creek_ through her window as he climbed her building. Jokes and one liners he’s used on thugs, or what he wanted to say but didn’t think of it until now. He doesn’t talk about how they barely fight anymore. If he keeps it light, he holds onto Jason for just a bit longer. Just a bit more so he doesn’t have to try to be the best brother, or son, or hero, he can just be. He wants these moments more than anything, to be without weight, to soar.

Jason knows he will never know everything that haunts Dick; it’s all locked up tight, heavy with chains and padlocks. But he reads between the lines in the levity presented, he asks what needs to be, he offers a shoulder, an ear, any part of his body to help. He likes to check in on Dick, make sure he’s okay, make sure he’s taking care of himself. Most times Dick is a fucking mess, and Jason stays long enough to contain it, to fuck him into a stupor so that he can clean Dick’s apartment little by little. He doesn’t know if Dick is aware of it, but he knows the fond smile which greets him grows more and more broad as the weeks go on. And if that isn’t incentive to keep coming back, the dirty fucks on rooftops are.

* * *

Jason visits his window after patrol, sweaty and wanting.

A light knock to let Dick know he’s there as he opens the window, crawling in talking shit about some asshole he dealt with. They bitch about their nights, about Batman, about anything but each other or their two younger counterparts while they share a beer on the creaky couch. Jason reaches over, pushes hair out of Dick’s face. Dick pushes forward to straddle his lap eagerly, and their mouths meet mid thought mid sentence and nothing else matters now but the grinding pressure between their hips.

Surfacing for air, stumbling towards the bed, foreheads touching as they breathe one another in. Hands exploring, dragging shirts off each other, slow, so slow. Kissing newly revealed skin, laving scars with tongues, tracing muscles with fingertips. Lips red and sore, aching for more kisses. Sweat beads on muscles made for violence, delighting in soft pleasure. Skin gleams in the moonlight streaming through the window, scars shine like stars. 

Harsh grabs sweetened by words, tongues trace veins along necks. Teeth nip on pulse points, raspy shouts encouraged by gentle hands. Grips bruising, eased by soft moans and open mouth kisses along skin. Slow building momentum, drawing out this moment, reveling in each other, cataloguing each second into memory. Light brush of fingertips across shoulders, nails scraping down backs, whispers barely caught, languishing together. Nothing more than this between them, this moment. Arms holding tight through their release, through the escaping breaths of ecstasy, through the slowing heartbeats, through the drifting shut of eyelids, through the morning.

* * *

Jason visits the hospital with flowers in his hand and a furrowed brow.

Dick is not alone - Tim sits with his head resting on the wall behind him, snoring lightly. Jason almost turns around, but a soft word calls him back. He shrugs a shoulder, walks the three steps lightly, fusses the bandages on Dick’s arm, looks at the machines he’s hooked up to. Dick waves away his concern with a shrug and a smile. His concern triples when Dick’s hand trembles with the effort.

It’s tense, in a way they aren’t. A short, terse, _thanks for letting me know you almost died_ . A clipped, _no problem thought you ought to know_. The silence vibrates between them. Dick is performing, Jason can see layers of veils over his - his person’s - face. Layers of pain, of worry, of questions, so many questions. And he has questions too, questions he can’t ask, because Tim is there, and does he even know about them? Does he guess? Did Jason just make the ultimate fuckup by being there, being worried, bringing flowers -

Dick’s hand grips his. He sees his hands trembling and the flowers are bent by his clenching fist. Dick motions for him to breathe, and leads with the first deep breath, squeezing his hand and tapping out a rhythm. Three breaths, that is their ritual. Three breaths that are deep and expand their lungs and give them a moment together, even in a hospital room. Jason closes his eyes for the last inhale, opening them to center on Dick. He is here for this stupid man who has a bullet hole in his bicep and shoulder because he is a cop. He is here because Bruce is not - Batman is offworld with Robin, thank fuck. Jason knows this is rare for them to be in public together as a, a something. Whatever the hell they are. But this, this path he chooses to see Dick, is more than what they claim to be and that means something.

He’s here, and he wants to be here, but he also wants Tim to be gone, he wants Dick to be okay, he wants to hold him in his arms without worrying or wondering who knows, who sees. He sits down, laying the flowers on the side table, and kisses Dick’s hand. They start chatting, keeping their tones low to not wake Tim, but their efforts are wasted on a genius who saw the whole thing. 

* * *

It’s Jason’s habit now, to be there.

He runs his index finger along the bridge of Dick’s nose, following it up to trace his eyebrow, trails around his temple in an intricate design. Dick’s eyes flutter closed, a small smile quirks his lips. Jason’s finger dips down to catch the dimple in his cheek. 

“I love it when you do this. It’s so fucking soothing.” His voice is soft, tender, and only for Jason to hear. This side of Dick is not often seen, relaxed and content. Unhurried.

Jason continues tracing swirling arches, following bone and muscle, until he runs the back of his hand down the side of Dick’s neck. A groan responds to the motion, deep and guttural. Dick arches into the hand, adding pressure. 

“I love our quiet nights. That’s what soothes me.” Jason’s voice is delicate, tight with emotion, and only Dick has ever heard that tone. He gracefully slides his hand back up Dick’s neck, fingertips slowly, lightly, dancing over his face once more. Jason feels each breath, each blink of those blue blue eyes, each twitch of lips, and can breathe easily.

Dick’s eyes open, finding the green blue eyes staring over him into nothing. He catches Jason’s hand and kisses his palm softly, gently. Jason shyly smiles, running his thumb along Dick’s cheek before sliding it into his hair. Dick raises his hand and runs it along Jason’s shoulder, down his arm. Along and around each scar adorning the appendage. Back up to his shoulder, flowing around his collar bones, gentle strokes give way to kisses along the ridged autopsy scar. This is all they need, this moment.

* * *

Jason comes to the Manor when he’s called.

He kicks in the door, not wanting to wait for Alfred to open it, anger boiling in him, because Tim was the one who called, not Dick, and that can only mean one thing. The yells that fill his ears match his expectations - Bruce knows, and shit is going down. He half-jogs to the living room, where the yells are the loudest. Alfred is outside the arched doorway, hand cradling his brow, but he greets Jason all the same. Grabs his arm. Stops him from going in.

Bruce is on his feet, towering over Dick as much as he can, arms crossed, eyebrows snapped together in anger. Dick is the one who is shouting. Accusations flying out of his mouth, coldly analytical strikes to break Bruce down. His words are sharp, his fury lacing each syllable with poison. Bruce is stony, turning away from his first son to walk to the windows. The Bat Signal shines in the sky, and, without a word, Bruce moves to the grandfather clock then disappears into the cave.

Dick throws the first thing he can grab, a crystal bowl filled with dainty candies. It shoots into the face of the grandfather clock and shatters, shards flying, a rainbow of colored candy pieces arcing through the air, sprinkling across the wood floor and carpet. He stands for a minute more, head bowed and hands clenched, before taking a breath. Then a second breath. A third inhale, he straightens up, sweeps his hands through his hair, and releases his breath through his mouth in a long sigh. 

He sees Jason and smiles tiredly, raises one arm for a hug. Jason walls slowly towards him and embraces him with both arms, kisses him, whispers, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Is the muffled response into his hoodie. “Let’s go home, yeah?” 

Jason squeezes him tight and releases, then catches his hand. His heart is beating fast, his breath is uneven, but he pretends to be cool, put on the “jerk mask” as Dick termed it. Because he can’t think of the implications of that fight, he can’t think of how fluttery he feels, he can’t think of someone fighting for him. Dick squeezes his hand, brings it up to his lips for a quick kiss, tiredly smiles at Jason’s blush spreading up his neck.

Dick is startled to spot Damian, who has been skulking unseen in a corner. He waves a hand, sorrow in his eyes. The kid glares, and a fleeting grin emerges - his grin falls as he spots Damian's eyes gleaming with unshed tears. He files that away to think over later, among all the other things he’s fucked up, when they’re safe together cuddled in front of the tv, all the things he needs to say to his robin to smooth over this mess. He can’t think of it now with adrenaline slamming through his blood, the argument replaying in his mind, Jason’s look of shock and anger and love muddled into one filtering through all of that to shine brightly. With a goodbye to Alfred, a hug apiece and supportive words gently spoken, they hop on to their motorcycles and head out. Head home.

* * *

It’s not really visiting when half of his shit is here.

Jason opens the door with a key, like a normal human, because that’s what he is right now. His arms are filled with groceries - it’s a precarious moment to get the key out of the lock and close the door behind him with a foot. He barely glances at the blanket mountain that is Dick on the couch, long enough to know he isn’t half out of the swaddle Jason forced him in an hour ago. 

The groceries are put away in a trice, and he is making soup with practiced hands when he hears a thump crash yell from the living room. Dick squalling about being wrapped in every blanket they own, sore throat croaking angrily around words muffled by something - the blankets, pillows, or the coffee table he rolled into, it’s anyone’s guess. Jason shouts back, _soup’s almost ready calm the fuck down for fucks sake_. A stifled moan and an emerging hand flipping him off is the reply.

He sets the pot to simmer, sets a timer on his phone, and walks over to the squirming blanket pile that is his person, water glass and pills in hand. He pulls Dick out of all the blankets, hands him the pills and the water, then turns to the pile of blankets. He shakes them out one by one, watching carefully to make sure Dick takes the pills and drinks the entire glass. He plucks the empty glass out of Dick’s hands, places it on the side table, and begins to burrito him. 

“If you don’t get better soon, we can’t go to relax on that island next month.”

“I wanna see the super secret island.” Dick pouts in his ever-growing blanket burrito, “And then you get to ask me an important question when we’re there, right?”

Jason is still, hand paused mid wrap. “How do you figure?”

“Third or fourth greatest detective, Jay, what can I say? I really want to answer that question.” Blankets wrap him up to his nose so Dick can’t quite show off the grin that hides underneath them, he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

Jason smiles as he tucks the last blanket around Dick, the timer goes off, he pats Dick’s head and he turns to go grab them soup.

* * *

Jason always appears when he has a gun in his hand.

Dick’s steady hand is clutching the gun, and Jason walks over to correct his hold, showing him where on the body he needs to aim for to get the most out of these little interviews. Jason will speak of torture techniques, of bullet trajectories, everything so analytically detailed to make sure death isn’t too soon. He will even comment on how much Dick has improved these past few months, how his aim is better, his hesitation is nil, his knife techniques smoother.

Dick never says anything back, but he will nod understandingly, will smile lovingly, until Jason leaves. He hates it when he sees Jason leave. He shoots the thug between the eyes and stalks out the next one so Jason will visit again. Soon, he thinks, and a longer visit. 

* * *

Jason is there at Arkham.

Praising him on sneaking the needed pieces past security. Scoffing at the decor, commenting on the smells and the screams. Holding him through the night, sometimes so hard it hurt. Whispering love sonnets in his ears to drown out the echoing wails. Guiding him on tricky wiring for his little project. Advising the right place to put the bomb so it causes the most damage to the worst people here. 

Telling him to stop this shit. Telling him to come to him. Telling him so many things, so much he should have said. Holding his hand while Bruce visits, never letting him go, wiping away stray tears sliding down his cheeks, squeezing his hand when he switches the bomb’s timing mechanism. Kissing his cheek when it explodes. Holding him tight throughout.

He doesn’t have to visit anymore. 

* * *

It was a phone call and a favor. The scales are balanced.

He walks down the curving path towards the beach, hands trailing through the flowers that bloom brightly throughout this oasis. He sees him lying in the sand, hands cradling his head as he watches the bright stars hanging in the sky. The ocean’s soft roar echoes tonight, as it does every day and night on their little island. 

He sits down next to Jason, curling easily into his warm body. Jason’s arm encircles him, holds him closer. The green in his eyes is faded, tinting them teal, and maybe this time it will be permanent. But this time...this time it’s different. There’s no revenge to have, there's less anger. Dick sighs, content in his embrace. Soft words are spoken, constellations are pointed out, the ocean serenades them as they drift back into a content silence peppered with kisses.

A loud, persistent beeping interrupts them. Jason groans, Dick laughs. He removes himself from Jason’s tight embrace and trots towards the house. He hears Jason lumbering and muttering behind him. The computer in their small, modern beach house is on, the beeping emanating from it piercingly. Dick sits at the desk, taps at some keys, and then Damian’s face is on screen.

Dick grins brightly. “Hey Dami, how’s it going?” He can feel Jason behind him, arms coming down to rest on the back of the chair. His hand reaches up, and Jason holds it tenderly.

“Thought you weren’t gunna contact us unless it was an emergency.” Jason rumbles.

Damian scowls. “Greyson promised weekly communications. It was part of the deal, and the only reason you’re standing here, Todd. If not for my mother honoring the favor she owed you -”

Jason snorts as Dick laughs and talks Damian down. Reassures him that he’s here for him if he needs him. That he is one of the six people in the universe that know Dick and Jason are still alive and that it needs to stay that way for a while longer. They will let him know if he can break the news to Bruce, to the League, unless there is an emergency they need to help with. It’s more reassurances and news and missing yous and and and, until Damian is practically falling asleep. Dick and Jason wave a sleepy goodbye to him, rings gleaming in the lamplight, the screen goes dark, and they are left alone again.

They smile at each other, and head towards their bed, arms around waists, hands entwined. This is all they need.


End file.
